The Office Special: Jim's Date
by carebear88
Summary: Jim's first real date with Pam is one disaster after another . . . with happy results. Jam fluff! My first Office fanfic. Note: chapter five is an author's note only. COMPLETE.
1. Prelude to disaster

**Summary: Jim's first real date with Pam is one disaster after another . . . with happy results. Jam fluff! My first "Office" fanfic.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. **

* * *

Jim cautiously knocked on Michael's office door, careful not to step too far into the room for fear of his boss trapping him in. "Hey, Michael—"

"Jimmy-boy!" Michael exclaimed, looking up from his desk. "Slim Jim . . . come on in, how are you?"

"Actually I just came in to say I'm leaving for the night." Jim said, pointing over his shoulder. Every word he spoke was carefully chosen as if he were speaking in a bottle, as if one wrong utterance would shatter the glass and mangle him horribly. "And I wanted to say that I'm sorry you didn't get the job."

Michael scrunched his face and waved him off, a gesture Jim recognized as a sign that he was pretending to be okay. "Yeah, whatever, that's . . . totally over with. But hey—glad to be back at my old desk, soon to be my old office . . ." Michael looked over his shoulder at Dwight, who was painting the walls back to gray after changing them to black in his boss' absence.

"I said I was sorry, Michael," Dwight said, painting crookedly while staring at his boss.

"Yeah, well, 'sorry' doesn't get my office back to normal." Michael snapped.

"I told Andy we should paint it white because it represents all colors—"

"Just-_shut up_ already . . . jeez." Michael rolled his eyes and stared back at Jim.

"Uh, anyway," Jim said, "I'll just take off and see you on Monday—"

"Did Karen get the job?" Michael asked.

Damn. He was almost out the door. Jim concluded that he couldn't fight the odds, that briefly visiting Michael was never brief, even on a bad day. Especially not on a bad day. And unfortunately for Jim, it seemed his boss was having a very bad day, indeed.

"No," Jim said, "Karen didn't get the job."

Michael crossed his arms and sat back in his swivel chair. "Huh. Interesting."

"She was too short anyway," Dwight said, focusing on the wall he was painting, "it's a dominance thing, you wouldn't understand—"

"Are you painting or are you talking?" Michael said, turning in his chair to Dwight.

"Can't I do both?"

Michael groaned and turned back to Jim. "This never would have happened if I named you my successor, Jim."

Jim perked and smiled at this, revering only in the fact that Dwight's eyes were fixed solely on him, his face twisted in an annoyed, jealous frown. "How's Jan dealing with everything?"

Jim knew it was the wrong question before he even asked. Michael rolled his eyes and put a hand to his forehead. "She's crazy, I can't deal with it." He sighed heavily and sat back, shrugging. "But what're you gonna do? You stick by them, through thick and thin, right?"

Jim smiled and nodded. He felt like being agreeable. "Right."

"Does she have to take her boobs back now that she doesn't have a job?" Dwight asked.

"Okay, you—" Michael stood and turned to Dwight, placing his hands on his shoulders and leading him out of the office.

"But I haven't finished painting yet—"

Michael slammed the door shut, leaving Dwight to stand outside the door with the paint roller in his hands. Jim watched as he sulked back to his desk.

"Jim, let me ask you a question," Michael said, sitting at his desk.

_ Oh, no_, Jim thought. _Trapped trapped trapped—_

"How long did it take until Karen became an emotional wreck in the relationship?" Michael asked.

Jim blinked. "I'm sorry—what?

"You know," his boss said, "how long until she cried uncontrollably for no reason or yelled at you on the phone for not putting the toothpaste cap on all the way?"

"Um . . . you know, I couldn't say, Michael. But I should really go, it's getting late—"

"What's the rush, _amigo_?" Michael's face brightened and he leaned over his desk. "Hey, I have an idea. Why don't you and I leave the old ball-and-chains at home, hop on over to Chile's, have a couple of margaritas, and rip up the town like the old days?"

Jim furrowed his eyebrows, confused. _Old days? _"Actually," he said, "I kind of have a date tonight."

"Ahh," Michael said, raising his eyebrows and smiling. "Gettin' lucky with Karen tonight, eh?"

"Oh, boy."

"Just remember to wear a rubber," Michael said in all seriousness.

"I'm not actually dating Karen anymore." Jim said.

"Oh," Michael said, sitting back in his chair, "what happened, man, you want to talk about it—?"

"Not really, no."

"_Jim_," Michael said, doing his best impersonation of a caring friend. "We're buddies. You can tell me anything. So what happened, did she break your heart?"

"She wanted to stay in New York and I wanted to be here in Scranton," Jim said. "End of story."

"Wait, so . . . who's the date with?"

0000000000

**Jim to camera:**

"Yeah . . . I asked Pam out." Jim stood in his living room that night, hands tucked in the pockets of his freshly-pressed khaki's. He wore a green sweater with a white shirt underneath, the collar folded out and his sleeves rolled to his elbows. He didn't mind the camera crew in his house, barely even noticed them unless they asked him questions like now.

"I do plan on telling her what happened to Karen, if that's what you mean," he said. "I mean, hopefully it won't be our only topic of discussion, but I won't blame her for being curious." Jim smiled and stared at the carpet. "And the answer to your other question is yes. I'm freaking out right now."

**Pam to camera:**

"No, I don't know what's in store tonight," Pam said in the bedroom of her apartment. She stood next to her bed with a pile of clothes laid about the room, her hair straightened with only a few curls and the slightest blush of makeup on her face.

"Kind of makes it more exciting, not knowing what's going to happen. I mean, Jim and I have been friends for a long time, so I know I'll have a good time, but . . . I'm pretty excited."

Pam held up two black dresses in front of the camera, one with a v-neck and the other a square cut. "Okay, biggest decision I've made all night—this one, or this one?" She held up both dresses to the camera, then pulled them back and looked at them herself.

"Yeah, these are funeral dresses."

**TBC **


	2. Visitors

**A/N: Thank you to all the wonderful reviews! As I've said, this is my first "Office" fanfic and I'm having a blast writing it! This next chapter might be a little far-fetched, but . . . hey, it's fanfiction, right? Thanks again!**

* * *

"I have a special assignment for you," Michael whispered on the phone. He stood by the living room window of his condo, the blinds drawn halfway closed and carefully peeking through the cracks. 

"Who's the target?" Dwight asked eagerly on the other line.

"Jim Halpert."

"Yes!" Dwight exclaimed. "Finally!"

"Calm down, you sound like an idiot." Michael said, his voice soft yet stern as he stared out at the darkened street of his quiet neighborhood.

"What's my mission?"

Michael glanced over his shoulder at the camera watching him and turned, cupping a hand over the receiver to block out his voice. "I need you to spy on Jim tonight."

"Why? What's he stolen?" Dwight asked.

"He's not . . . just—"

"Fire him," Dwight said, "fire him immediately. Possession is nine-tenths of the law."

"I need you to find out who Jim's date is tonight," Michael said, ignoring Dwight and watching the camera out of the corner of his eye. "Karen is out of the picture and I need to know who he's rebounding with."

"Why don't you just ask him on Monday?"

"Because," Michael said, raising his voice, "then I'll have to wait a whole weekend to find out, and I can't handle that kind of suspense. If it's not Karen, then who is it?"

000

**Michael to camera:**

"I am . . . a matchmaker. People say that whenever I'm around, romance just blossoms out of nowhere, ya know? It's at those moments when everyone around me finds love . . . except for _me_. But hey, that's part of the job description—Cupid never had a love interest. If he did, he'd be out of a job. He'd be too busy shagging his own little Mrs. Cupid to get any work done." Michael paused, lacing his fingers together in his lap. "And that's just poor management."

000

"What about Pam?" Dwight asked.

Michael paced the length of his window "Naw, she's still recovering from that embarrassing confession on the beach. Jim wouldn't want to date her, guys don't like that kind of honesty."

"You're so wise, Michael," Dwight breathed.

"I know."

"What should I do?" Dwight asked. "Should I go over to his house?"

"Yeah, that might be your safest bet. But don't let him get on to you, we don't want our cover blown." Michale laughed. "That's what _she_ said."

"Can I bring my ninja gear?"

Dwight's boss put a hand to his forehead. "I don't _care_—"

"You're right, too suspicious. Hey, can we have code names?"

"No."

"Please?"

Michael sighed. "Fine, just—go over and find out who it is."

"You can count on me, boss." Dwight held up his hand in a salute as if Michael could see him and smiled. "I won't let you down."

Michael looked back at the camera again. "Yeah, well, we'll see about that."

0000000000

**Jim to camera**

"So for tonight, I got Pam and I reservations at Corbin's, which I know she hasn't been to yet and has been dying to try out." Jim stood in a corner of his kitchen between the stove and counter top, his hands gripping the edges so tightly that his knuckles became bone-white. "And I know it's kind of stupid," he continued, pointing to the sink, "but I got her flowers, too."

A bouquet of a dozen lilies sat in the dripping sink, white and glistening with water in a green plastic covering.

"I guess I'm kind of old-fashioned when it comes to dating," Jim went on with a laugh. "But, uh . . . it's been a long time coming and I don't want to blow this. Again." He chuckled and looked at the camera, holding up his palms. "I'm sorry, but my hands are _killing_ me right now."

Jim cleared his throat and pulled at the collar on his shirt. "Is it hot in here?"

0000000000

As Pam inspected herself in the mirror of her bathroom, she tossed her hair and smoothed her skirt, sighing deeply and holding her head high with a strained smile. She was confident of her choice of dress—the black, square-cut number was as good as she was going to get. Pam wrestled with the dilemma of wearing something too colorful or revealing on the first date, deciding to take it slow and dress like—

"I look like a nun," she said to herself in the mirror. Pam turned to the camera. "Do I look like a nun?" After waiting a beat, she put her hands up and walked out of the room, brushing past the camera crew. "Don't answer that, please."

**Pam to camera:**

"Okay, so I'm a little nervous." Pam stood in her living room by the couch. "I mean, Jim and I are great friends, but I have the right to be a little jittery . . . right? A first date is always stressful, even if you know the person well."

Pam smiled and held up a hand. "I'm sorry, I'm blabbing. It's going to be fine. Everything is going to be great—"

000

A knock at the door wiped the smile from Pam's lips. She looked at the camera with a face frozen in fear, quickly going to the door as her bare feet skidding on the wood floor. She fixed her hair and dress before opening the door to—

"Kelly?"

Kelly Kapoor, dressed in a fluffy pink sweater and heels, stood on the other end of Pam's apartment door, mascara running down her face like some sad, washed-up clown. She sniffled, her lip stuck out as if she were a child in a toy store having a fit.

"Ryan . . . broke up . . . with . . . _me_!"

Pam slowly turned her face to the camera.

**Pam to camera:**

"You know that feeling you get when you're outside on a nice, sunny day, and you see a large wall of clouds heading your way? It's like—you know the storm's coming, but you're still worried about it and you wonder if it's going to ruin your nice day." Pam paused, looking at her lap and back up at the camera. "Storm's coming."

000

"I'm so so _so_ sorry, Pam, but I could totally use a friend right now." Kelly's face was scrunched in pain and sadness; a helpless, yet manipulative look Pam just couldn't relate to.

"I'm sorry, Kelly, but—"

"Please, Pam, _please_!"

"Don't you have other friends, like . . . outside of the office? I think they'd be more of a help than me."

"I _hate_ them, Pam, they'd only laugh at me—they never said Ryan and I would last—could you _please_ just give me some company right now?"  
Pam hesitated, looking at the camera again as if it would help. "Um . . ."

"Pam," Kelly said seriously, staring at her coworker with gobs of makeup running down her cheeks. "I feel like I might die. Please."

Pam pursed her lips and nodded. "Okay, come in."

"Thank you _so_ much!" Kelly breathed, pushing past Pam and entering her living room.

Pam closed the door and turned to the camera, giving it a look before moving towards Kelly.

"Oh my God, is this where you live?" Kelly asked.

Pam lowered her eyes.

"I mean it's cute, it's adorable," Kelly backtracked. "It reminds me of those sweaters you always wear to work."

"Thanks." Pam said.

Kelly suddenly put her hand on the arm of the couch and lowered her head, breaking down into a fit sobs and touching her chest. "I'm going to die, Pam! I mean, why would Ryan _do_ that?"

"Oh, um . . ." Pam put her hands up as though she could heal her coworker through the air. "Do you want a drink or something?"

Kelly sniffed and raised her head. "Martini with a twist," she squeaked.

Pam frowned. "Beer it is."

0000000000

"Okay," Jim said to himself, pacing the kitchen. "Got the flowers, got the reservation . . . what am I missing?" He looked at the kitchen clock, seeing the green digital lights read 6:30. "Okay, I've still got an hour—"

Jim stood frozen in his tracks as a knock came at the door. He looked at the camera and back at the front entrance, too afraid to move for fear it was something horrible about to ruin his night. What if it was some kind of terrible nightmare where every bad thing was embodied in one singular person or thing to destroy his evening? Or worse . . . what if it was Michael? Jim walked to the door and put his hand on the knob, letting it warm in his grip before asking who it was.

"It's Dwight."

He unlocked the door and slowly opened it, seeing his annoying desk neighbor smiling deviously on the other end. "Dwight." Jim said.

"Surprised to see me?"

"Relieved, actually."

"Can I come in?"

"No," Jim said quickly.

"What's a matter?" Dwight sang, craning his neck to peek into Jim's house. "Got company right now?"

Jim sighed and shrugged. "Uh, actually, I'm heading out in a little bit." He paused, staring at his coworker, who continued to smile like the mastermind he thought he was. "Something I can help you with, Dwight?"

"Not really," he said, swaying from side to side. "I just wanted to know what our numbers were for the mid-season quarterly?"

"Can it wait 'til Monday?" Jim asked anxiously.

"Sure thing," Dwight grinned, giving the camera a more-than-conspicuous nod. Jim jumped as the phone rang in the living room. "Oops," Dwight said, "expecting a call?"

"Can you just . . . hang on?" Jim made the mistake of leaving his door open with Dwight Schrute on the other side, giving the man full access to not only his home, but his phone conversation as well.

000

**Dwight to camera:**

"He might as well have given me his Social Security Number. Not only does Jim Halpert hide his spare key in the most obvious of places—a hide-a-key rock in the garden—but he deliberately opens his door to anyone without first asking for proper identification." Dwight paused and stared at the camera as if his reasoning was the most obvious thing in the world. "I could have been an ax murderer . . . or a Jehovah's Witness." Dwight scoffed and looked away. "Good thing I'm only spying on him."

000

"Wait, wait, wait," Jim said into the phone as Dwight slipped into the front entrance. "What do you mean the table's already been booked?"

Dwight tip-toed into the living room, scanning the area with his eyes and stretching his neck out to get a better look at things. He brushed a hand along the glass coffee table and rubbed his fingers together. "Just as I thought," he murmured.

"I just called two hours ago, and you said you had space for me." Jim said quietly on the phone, his voice getting tense and frustrated.

"This carpet needs to be re-stretched," Dwight said, running the toe of his shoe along the floor.

"No, I—Dwight, knock it off," Jim whispered to his annoying coworker.

Dwight raised his eyebrows and slowly walked to the kitchen, rapping on the entrance frame before stepping in and zeroing in on the sink. "What have we here?" he asked himself, peering at the bouquet of flowers. Dwight grinned, his mouth flying open as he slowly looked up at the camera. "Busted."

000

**Dwight to camera:**

"I have a very good idea of who Jim's going out with. Being a retired volunteer sheriff's deputy, I've developed a sixth-sense for these kinds of things. All logical signs point to Jim's lover being Meredith." Dwight paused. "Or maybe Kelly." He paused again, bringing his hands together in front of his lips as though he were praying. "Or even Phyllis, she could be having an affair." Dwight reached in his back pocket and pulled out a notepad and pencil. "I should be writing this down for Michael . . . is 'skank' spelled with a 'c'?"

000

"That's ridiculous!" Jim called into the phone. "Who could you have possibly given my table away to?" Dwight poked his head out from the kitchen and listened in on Jim's call. "I see. Well, that's great, thanks . . . yeah, you have a great night, too."

Jim set his phone down and buried his face in his hands, groaning.

"What seems to be the trouble, Jim?" Dwight asked, entering the room.

"They gave away my table at the restaurant," Jim said.

"I see," Dwight said, his mischievous smile returning. "Dinner for two?"

"Yeah, well, not anymore."

"And who might the lucky lady be?"

"Just a friend, Dwight," Jim said.

"_Right_ . . ." Dwight sang, circling around Jim. "A 'friend'."

Jim sighed, an unmistakable annoyed look stuck on his face. "Is there anything else you need, Dwight? I'm kind of having a crisis at the moment."

"Does this lady friend have a name?" Dwight asked, breaking Jim's personal bubble and leaning directly into his face.

000

**Jim to camera:**

"Of course I know Dwight is spying on me. I'm sure Michael had something to do with it. The question is . . . how do I get him to leave me alone? Which is like asking 'how do I get a cancerous growth to leave me alone?'"

000

"Come on Jim, you can tell me," Dwight said, staring him down as though digging the secret out with his eyes. "This is just between you and me, old pal."

Jim smiled, delighting in this opportunity. "Alright, it's Angela."

Dwight's smile left him as though someone had slapped it away. "Impossible." he said.

"No, it's true," Jim said, "we've been talking around the office and . . . one thing lead to another—"

"False! Angela doesn't even like lilies—"

Jim looked at Dwight with mock curiosity, a frown creasing lower and lower on his coworker's lips. "I have to make a call," Dwight said, turning for the door.

"Nice seeing you, Dwight," Jim called out.

Dwight slammed the door to Jim's house, sprinting to his car across the street and scrambling into the driver's seat. He slouched in his seat and kept his eyes on Jim's house, dialing a number on his cell and pressing the phone tightly to his ear.

"Angela?" he asked. "Answer me one question: are you or are you not seeing Jim Halpert tonight on a romantic outing?" After a beat, Dwight's face softened and he sighed. "Good. Don't ask questions, it's too sensitive. I'm on a mission, I'll call you back."

Dwight ended his call with Angela and immediately dialed another number, tearing his eyes away from Jim's house and staring at the other side of his car where the camera was.

"M-dawg, it's Captain Kurt." he said into the phone. Dwight paused as Michale spoke. "No, it's—it's the code we were talking about, you're M-dawg, I'm—" Silence again as Michale chewed him out. Dwight sighed and looked into the camera, shaking his head like a soldier in the trenches.

"We're in way over our heads."

**TBC **


	3. When it rains

**A/N: Thanks again for all the wonderful reviews! You guys have really boosted my confidence in writing fanfic for The Office. And don't worry, that Jam goodnes is coming! **

* * *

"And he was just . . . _so_ awesome that day!" Kelly wailed, sitting back on Pam's couch with a beer in her hand. "I seriously thought at that moment that we'd be together forever—I thought, 'oh my God, I'm going to spend the rest of my life with this person!' And then he just . . . _dumps_ me!"

Pam raised her eyes from her lap and looked at the camera with a wide, pleading gaze. "Yeah, that sucks—"

"It's like on _Passions_ when Luis and Sheridan were meant for each other, and then he ran off with her slutty niece and now she's evil and plotting revenge . . . oh my gosh, Pam, _I'm_ Evil Sheridan!"

Pam looked at the clock above her mantle, reading 6:45, and looked back at a sniffling Kelly. "I bet you feel much better now—"

"Am I pretty?" Kelly asked suddenly.

Pam stared. "What?"

"Am I pretty? Pam, you can tell me the truth. Do I dress like a slut or something, because I swear I'm not. Maybe I talk too much—my parent's say I talk too much and I'll never get a nice Indian boy to marry me . . . as if I'd want _one_. An Indian boy, I mean, not a marriage—I'm saying I'd want to get married, but not to an Indian guy. Not that they're bad or anything, they're just all so boring!" Kelly paused, looking out across the living room with her eyes welling up with tears and her bottom lip quivering. "Ryan wasn't boring . . ."

As Kelly downed her beer like a jogger swigging a liter of water, Pam inched closer to her coworker on the couch, deciding to take a chance. "You know what, Kelly?" Pam said softly. "I think the only reason Ryan broke up with you—and this is just a hunch—is because he's threatened by your . . . spirit."

Kelly wiped her nose and looked at Pam. "What does that mean?"

"I mean," Pam continued, feeling progress being made, "Ryan's the type of guy who just, you know, wants to focus on his career and make lots of money—"

"But I wanted that, too!" Kelly cried. "I could never date a poor person, Pam!"

"Just listen," Pam said, keeping her cool. "You're a very bright person. You do talk a lot, but you always have something interesting to say. You wear colorful things to work and you're generally very sweet. I just think Ryan wasn't ready for someone of your . . . uniqueness. And if you ask me, Kelly, if Ryan couldn't see how great you are, then he's not worth it."

Kelly stared, her mouth open and her eyes starry from Pam's stream of compliments. "Oh my God," she sighed. "You're totally right."

"I am?"

"Ryan never really appreciated me! I was too good for him, he just kept me around as his trophy girlfriend! I could do _so_ much better than him!"

"Right!" Pam said with fake enthusiasm. Deep down, she felt good about helping Kelly and finally bringing a smile to her coworker's lips, but at the same time, the clock was ticking.

A crack of lightning and a subsequent boom of thunder jolted the girls in their seats. Pam looked out the window, her face dropping like a ton of bricks and a sickly feeling growing in her stomach. She went to the window and peeked through the curtains, the pinprick of worry in her gut growing to the size of a baseball as sheets of rain began falling on the pane.

"This is so weird," Kelly said from the couch. Pam turned to see her friend with her hands over her heart. "It's like God is crying for me because He knows Ryan broke my heart." Instead of feeling sadness, it seemed as though Kelly was flattered that God might have been crying for her, evident by the smile growing on her face.

"Kelly, I'd hate to just throw you out like this—"

"Maybe we could go to a movie tonight or something, I feel _much_ better."

"It's just that . . ." Pam took a cautious step towards her coworker on the couch and glanced at the camera. "I kind of have plans tonight."

Kelly perked in her seat. "Really? With who?"

Again Pam looked at the camera. "I'm having dinner with a friend."

Kelly set her beer on the end table and stood. "You have a _date_ tonight?"

"It's kind of—"

"Oh my God, are you getting back together with Roy? Did he threaten to kill you or something if you didn't get back together with him?"

"What?" Pam asked, alarmed. "No!"

Kelly suddenly gasped, her brown eyes as big as serving platters. "You're going out with _Jim_ tonight, aren't you?!"

Pam winced at the sudden revelation. "Oh, God," she sighed.

"You can't wear that tonight!" Kelly cried, looking Pam over with disgust as though she were carrying the Bubonic plague. "That's, like, a funeral dress—you can't wear that, Pam!" Kelly gasped again. "_Ohmigod_! You _have_ to let me give you a makeover tonight!"

Pam's face dropped and she shook her head. "No."

"Oh, please, Pam! You'll look so much better when I'm done, you _have_ to! Jim's gonna want to marry you when I make you look beautiful! Please, please, please!"

Pam paused, looking down at her dress. "Is it really that bad?"

Kelly grabbed her hand and pulled Pam down the hall to her room where her clothes were still piled about. "You are so lucky I came over tonight, Pam." Kelly slammed the bedroom door shut and leaned back on it. "You'll thank me for this, I swear."

Pam turned to the camera, horrified in her own quiet way.

000

**Jim to camera:**

"Well, so far it's been a disaster," Jim said, slumped on his couch. "The restaurant I booked gave my table away to some politician visiting from New York . . . and, since it's Friday, all other restaurants are filled up. But hey, at least all the bad stuff is happening before the actual date. Guess that's something to be thankful for." Jim stopped as a rumble of thunder rolled across the sky outside. He mugged at the camera and pointed to the rain-soaked window behind him.

"When it rains, it pours."

000

"Michael, it's Dwight." The odd sales rep from Dunder-Mifflin sat up in his seat, rain pounding the windows of his 1987 Pontiac Trans Am. He looked at Jim's house and back at the camera. "It started to rain, my mission is in jeopardy."

Dwight paused as he listened to his boss on the other end. "No," he said, "he hasn't left the house yet. His dinner plans fell through, that might put a damper on his evening." Dwight listened again, looking at the camera. "I don't know if he's canceled his evening—wait . . . this could all be a diversion to throw us off the scent." A small smile curled Dwight's thin lips. He nodded to the camera as if it were his accomplice. "It all makes sense now."

Dwight stopped and listened to his boss on the other end of the line. "Of course I don't think Jim caused it to rain." Silence again. "Uh, because it he did, he would have to be some sort of upper-level sorcerer, able to bend the laws of the natural world . . . then again, I have seen him move things with his mind." Dwight slumped in his seat again, looking out at Jim's house with the phone pressed tightly to his ear. "We're through the looking-glass, Michael."

000

**Dwight to camera:**

"I take pride when Michael asks me to spy on my coworkers. I think of it as an honor to report back the going-ons of my fellow employees. If Michael is the captain of the ship, I'm the one in the crow's nest shouting 'iceberg, right ahead!' Of course, on the Titanic, the captain didn't turn fast enough and the ship hit the iceberg, killing thousands of people . . . but that's not the fault of the night watchman. It's my duty in the crow's nest to report, not to act. Then again, if I were the captain I would have smelled the iceberg coming and turned the ship in time, thus saving lives and making me a hero." Dwight sighed. "Which is why _I_ should be the captain of this ship . . ."

000

"And then I thought for, like, three whole days that I was pregnant, but it was just PMS—I mean, I was _freaking_ out, Pam! I even went to Wiggles and Giggles to buy cute little baby outfits, like dresses and overalls, but my check bounced and I had to take it all back. Luckily, Ryan never found out or maybe he would have stayed with me in the end. Do you like this color?"

Pam sat, facing Kelly on her bed as he coworker talked and held an eyeshadow kit up to her nose, swirling the colors around and dabbing clumps of makeup on Pam's face as though she were her own personal Barbie doll.

"Uhm . . ." Pam turned her head to the clock on her nightstand.

"Don't move!" Kelly yelled, turning Pam's face back with her hands. "It's time for mascara."

As Kelly dipped the brush in the mascara well, Pam rolled her eyes over to the camera, her face twisted in agony as her coworker made her up. Kelly put the mascara brush away and sat back, smiling. "That totally works with the color of your dress," she said. "Oh my God . . . you look _just_ like a fairy princess."

000

**Pam to camera:**

Pam sat, dressed in a hideous pink dress she hadn't worn since her senior year of high school, with a thick layer of equally-as-pink makeup on her face—blush, eyeshadow, lipstick—and glitter over her eyes just below her brows. As quickly as the lightning had been flashing outside the window, Kelly had whipped Pam's hair up in tight curls, pinning them to the top of her head like frosting on a cake, topped with a fucsia flower pin she found in the closet.

Pam shook her head at the camera, feeling grimy from all the chemicals Kelly had put on her face, a small, self-deprecating smile on her frosted lips.

"Stupid, stupid Pam . . ."

000

"So, like, what's the deal with Jim, anyway?" Kelly asked, dabbing Pam's face with a Kleenex.

"What do you mean?"

"Doesn't it bother you that he's going out with you _right_ after he dumped Karen?"

Pam pressed her lips in a thin line and shook her head. "It's not like that—"

"Looks like a rebound thing to me," Kelly said. She pulled her hand away from Pam's face. "No offense."

"None taken."

A beat of silence entered the room, interrupted only by the constant clicking of rain against the glass of Pam's window. "He's cute," Kelly said suddenly.

Pam smiled. "Yeah, I guess he is."

"I think it's so adorable you two are finally going out. I mean, I've been stuck in the back cubicle, like, forever, but whenever I went on break, I always used to see you guys talking together, and even before Jim told anyone that he was in love with you, I always thought—'wow, these two would make the _cutest_ couple.'"

"Thank you," Pam said hesitantly.

Kelly unsheathed a tube of lipstick and pressed it to Pam's lips. "Are you going to put out tonight?"

Pam rocked backwards and looked at Kelly, horrified. "What?"

"What?" Kelly said, as though Pam had asked the audacious question.

**TBC **


	4. Real love

**A/N: I want to thank you all again for your wonderful reviews, it's really given me the gusto to keep this sucker going! Sad to say, this is the last chapter, and it's a shame because I had so much fun writing this fic. Hopefully, I'll find the inspiration to do more Office fics, because these are a blast! Thanks again, guys!**

* * *

Jim looked at the clock above his mantle in the living room and rubbed his hands together. Seven o'clock. He had planned to leave at seven-fifteen to be at Pam's directly on time, hopefully being no earlier or later than he anticipated, but with the rain and Dwight's spying interfering with his plans, Jim decided to take a chance and leave now. He stood from the couch with a sigh, straightened his shirt, and grabbed the lilies from the sink of the kitchen. As Jim fiddled with his car keys, he opened the door as though it were the gateway to another world—a new, more exciting world with even greater possibilities. 

**Jim to camera:**

"It's kind of a miracle," Jim said, walking down the front pathway of his house. "The second I step out the door, the rain stops. Maybe this is a good sign, I don't know, but . . . I'm optimistic." Jim paused, looking at the camera as he walked to his car on the street. "I still don't know what we're going to do for dinner. Maybe I should ask Dwight—hey, Dwight!"

000

"Angela, I have to go!" Dwight hissed into his phone. He looked out his window to see Jim waving towards him. "My mission is faltering, I have to—"

"Dwight, hey!" Jim continued to call.

"Don't get hysterical," Dwight said into the phone. "Angela, you are interfering with my mission!" Dwight stopped and watched as Jim continued to move towards him. "Don't call it stupid, Michael knows exactly what he's doing! Oh yeah? Well I think _you're_ out of line tonight, Angela!"

Jim knocked on Dwight's window, causing the man to jump and nearly drop his cell phone. Dwight slowly lowered the automatic windows on his car and stared up at Jim with a stern, unwavering face, the phone still attached to his ear. "What's up, dawg?"

Jim had to use every fiber of his being not to laugh at his ridiculous coworker. "Yeah, could you maybe move your car?" Jim asked, his lips itching to crack a grin. "You're blocking me in."

Dwight continued to stare. "Sure thing, I—"

"_Dwight? Dwight, answer me_ . . ." Angela said, loud enough on the other end for Jim to hear.

Jim cocked his head to the side. "Who's on the phone?"

Dwight took the phone away from his ear and clasped it shut, never taking his intense gaze off of Jim. "No one." he said.

Jim nodded. "Great. So, uh . . .?"

"Oh, right." Dwight broke his concentration and turned the ignition of his car.

Jim rapped on the door of Dwight's car. "Thanks, man." He turned and walked towards his car, giving the camera an amused look.

Dwight dialed quickly as he turned his car around, peeling out as he went west down Hanson Street. "Michael!" Dwight cried on the phone. "Jim is out of his house and I am currently perusing him by vehicle. Repeat: Jim has flown the nest, the mongoose is hot on the trail!"

Michael sat on his couch at home, flipping through channels on the TV and cradling the phone between his neck and ear. He had long since grown tired of Dwight's mission, keeping his worker on the assignment only because there wasn't a good movie on TV. Luckily for Michael, Dwight's calls usually came between commercials, providing the regional manager with something else to focus on in between shows.

"How far behind him are you following?" Michale asked Dwight.

"Actually, I'm ahead of him."

Michael sat up on the couch and leaned forward. "If you're ahead of him, how can you possibly be following him?"

Dwight looked in his rear-view mirror and snapped his phone shut. "Damn it!" he cried.

**Dwight to camera:**

"I work well under pressure. When something isn't going my way, I take a moment inside my head to asses the situation and decide how it can work in my favor. Michael has given me some tough assignments before—stalking Oscar, investigating the illegal substance found in the parking lot—and I've never _not_ gotten to the bottom of these cases." Dwight paused, smiling at the camera. "I'd say I'm pretty good at my job. Don't believe me?" He chuckled. "Just ask Michael."

**Michael to camera:**

"Dwight's an idiot."

000

As Pam sat in the middle of her couch, knees together and ankles apart, she stared out the window and shuddered, catching a reflection of herself and Kelly's hideous makeover in the glass. Her coworker had since left, offering to help straighten out Pam's room by stuffing her clothes in the closet and smoothing her bed sheets. As Pam had walked by the room while on her way to the bathroom, she caught a glimpse of Kelly spraying perfume on her pillows.

**Pam to camera:**

"It really was sweet of Kelly to try and help me like she did. I mean, I know she was just trying to be nice . . ." Pam paused. "Except, it's kind of like I was the mom and Kelly was the little girl playing dress-up with me. It's cute at first, but when the child goes down for a nap and you actually see yourself in the mirror, you kind of want to ground that child for making you look like a hooker." Pam stopped and lowered her head. "But I can't stay mad at her, even if she did take a picture of me to save on her 'makeover wall'." Pam paused again. "I'm actually kind of happy for Ryan."

000

Jim knew Dwight was still following him, even as he pulled up to Pam's apartment building across the street. Looking through his rear view mirror, he saw Dwight park a mere three cars behind him and shook his head.

"Alright," Jim said to himself, sighing triumphantly. "Here we go."

**Jim to camera:**

"I'm really excited. I've been waiting for this for a long time and now that it's finally here . . ." Jim trailed off, thinking to himself. "But I don't have any expectations or anything." He chuckled and held up his hands. "This is an expectation-free night. We definitely have some talking to do, and I think Pam feels the same way, but . . . this is the first time we can really, truly be together alone, without any other obstacles." Jim paused. "And that feels really good."

000

Jim got out of his car, lilies in hand, with a cautious sense of optimism. This was really happening. He was going to spend an entire evening alone with the one person whose company he enjoyed most—he was going to see what she was like on a first date; her mannerisms, her way of speaking. Would she be nervous? Would this just be an extended experience from the office? Not to mention, would she be expecting a kiss at the end of the night—?

Not a moment before Jim locked his car and closed the door did a minivan cruising by hit a puddle in front of his parking space, sending a wave of recent rain crashing over him. He stood for a moment, pretending the event hadn't happened, ignoring that he was suddenly wet and cold from head-to-toe, the beautiful lilies in his hand now soggy and half gone. He opened his eyes to the harsh reality of the situation and realized that this was, indeed, the worst moment of his life.

Wet from all over, horribly embarrassed at the thought of Pam seeing him this way, Jim trudged on, regardless, and crossed the street with the one remaining lily clutched defiantly in his hand. He had come too far now to just give up and reschedule the night, had worked too hard to gather the courage to ask her out on a real date. He didn't care if his car started on fire, didn't worry about losing all of his money or contracting some horrible disease—he was going to meet Pam Beesley for dinner tonight, even if it killed him.

Jim thought of all these things as he walked up the stairs of the outside terrace to Pam's door. He stopped halfway up and looked over his shoulder, feeling as Dwight stalked him from the bushes below as his odd head popped up from behind the branches. But instead of being annoyed or even angry, Jim saw this as a golden opportunity for his night.

He marched the rest of the way up the stairs, knocking on Pam's door without a moment's hesitation, and stood tall as the luckiest man on earth.

000

Despite Pam's nerves, she did something she felt was unexpected and practically glided to the door as she heard the knock. Pam prayed Jim wouldn't look at her strangely, hoped against all hope that he wouldn't joke or even crack a smile at the ridiculous way Kelly had dressed her. _Please, God, let this be normal_—

But as she opened the door, Pam found herself stepping back in surprise. It was Jim, alright—same laid-back demeanor, same easy grin that made her want to forget all her worries. Except this Jim, the one standing on the other end of her door, he was a dirtier, sadder version of Jim, one which had to be pitied and questioned at the same time.

After Pam had closed her mouth and gotten over the initial shock, she wondered why Jim was so wet, then smiled and felt her heart melt with happiness as she saw the sad, lonely lily drooping in his hand. Jim smiled back, oblivious to her bold new makeover. He held the lily out to Pam, a puppy dog with pleading, hopeful eyes.

"This _was_ for you," he said.

Pam's smile grew wider and she laughed. "What happened to you?" she asked, taking the flower. Pam watched as Jim paused, staring at her with his mouth in a half-grin and giving her a look she had become familiar with, a look that meant he wanted something from her—to laugh with her, to talk and joke and have fun with. Pam had since called it the "I want" look.

Jim blinked and smiled wider. "That's not really important now," he said in a low whisper, "because right now, Dwight is following me."

"Really?" Pam asked, excited.

"I'm pretty sure Michael set him up on this one . . . and I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm going on a date with Angela."

Pam put a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh as Jim leaned in, amused.

00

**Jim to camera:**

"Yeah, I know what Pam is wearing tonight. I don't know how it happened or if she did it on her own, but . . . I think it's cute. Reminds me of a cupcake." Jim stopped and smiled. "I happen to _love_ cupcakes."

000

"We have to take advantage of this opportunity," Pam said.

"I was hoping you'd say that."

"Where is he now?" Pam asked, stepping outside the door and looking out over the street.

Jim motioned over his shoulder. "He's hiding in the bushes." Pam laughed and put a hand to her face again. "Okay," Jim said, "follow my lead." He straightened and cleared his throat, his face becoming serious.

"Hey, Pam." Jim said loudly. "Do you think I can come in for a second?"

"Wow, Jim!" Pam said equally as loud and enthusiastic. "You look terrible, what happened to you?"

"Well, I was on my way to _Angela's_ for a _date_ with her tonight, and a car splashed me on the curb!"

"Oh no!" Pam cried, trying her hardest to stifle her laughter. "That's terrible, do you want to dry off really quick?"

"Yeah, that'd be great—oh, hang on! I have to call _Angela_ first and tell her I'll be a little late!" Jim whipped out his cell phone as Pam doubled over in giggles. He dialed Angela's number and waited patiently for her to pick up, leaning on Pam's door frame and looking out at the bushes.

"Hey, Angela," he said, "I was just wondering what our numbers were for the mid-season quarterly this year?"

000

Dwight crouched low in the bushes, craning his neck to see Jim and Pam on the terrace together and drinking in their every word. He thought for a split second he had finally busted him, but upon listening closer to what they were saying, Dwight began to get nervous. Something about Jim being splashed with water and Angela having a date—

Dwight took out his cell phone and began dialing rapidly, missing keys and cursing to himself. When he finally got Angela's number down, Dwight looked up at the terrace where Jim stood, also speaking on his cell phone.

"Angela!" Dwight snapped in a low tone. "Where are—"

"I can't talk now, Dwight," Angela said over the phone. "I've got Jim on the other line."

Dwight's face dropped like a ton of bricks. He slowly stared up at Jim, his mouth slightly open and his heart pumping ice water. He clicked his phone shut and sprang from the ground, sprinting down the lawn towards his car with the speed of a gazelle.

"I'm coming, Angela!" he cried out in the dead of night.

000

Jim flipped his cell phone shut and laughed with Pam as they watched Dwight leap out of the brush and dash to his car. Pam put her hand on Jim's wet sleeve and rested her head on his shoulder, weak from laughter and gasping for breath.

"Did you _see_ the look on his face?" Jim breathed.

"I thought he was going to have a heart attack!" Pam cried, looking up at Jim.

As their laughter tapered off, Pam stepped away from Jim and smiled at him, feeling fluttery as the "I want" look came back on his face.

"Do you always dress like this for a first date, or am I just special?" he asked.

Pam held up a hand. "Do _not_ ask." she said with a laugh.

Jim paused, looking her over. "So, uh . . . are we going to pitch a tent out here, or—"

"Oh, right," Pam said, opening the door to her apartment. "Sorry." She led Jim into her flat and stepped aside to give him a full view of her meager but comfortable place. "This is it," she called.

"I'd hate to get your carpet wet . . ." Jim said, looking down at his wet shoes.

"Oh, that's okay," Pam said as he removed them. She motioned for him to come forward, away from the door. "Come in—oh, wait." Pam disappeared around the corner of the hallway, leaving Jim alone at the entrance.

"So I had dinner reservations tonight," Jim called out. "But they, uh . . . they kinda fell through."

Pam reappeared from the hallway with a towel in her hand and a broad smile on her face. She handed him the towel and laced her hands together behind her back.

"Thanks," Jim said, rubbing the towel over his wet hair. "Are you disappointed about dinner?"

Pam walked to the living room and Jim followed. "Devastated," she said, sitting down on the couch. Jim set the towel over the couch and sat down, smiling. An awkward silence filled the space between them.

"So how did—"

"What ha—"

The two smiled and laughed. "You go first," Jim said.

"No, I was just going to ask if that story about the car splashing water on you was true." Pam said.

"Oh yes," Jim said, grinning, "it was a minivan on a mission."

Pam laughed, tilting her head to the side on the couch. "So, um . . . what about dinner?"

Jim paused, his smile faltering only slightly. "I don't know," he said genuinely. He straightened and turned towards Pam. "There was a lot I wanted to talk to you about tonight . . . a lot I kind of wanted to just put out there in the open. But now that I'm here, and you're wearing that crazy outfit—"

Pam laughed.

"—and it's just been one disaster after another tonight . . . I don't really feel like talking about any of those things." Jim looked at Pam, his face neither expectant nor untroubled; that of a man who knew what he wanted but also went with the flow. "I just feel like," he continued, "being here."

Pam's face softened and she blinked, reading Jim's unmistakable gaze and feeling a warm glow radiate from her belly. "I feel the same way," she said.

Jim smiled. "Good," he said. "In that case, I think we should open a bottle of wine—only enough to be slightly romantic—get some food, and talk about bad romantic comedies together."

"Sounds like a plan," Pam said.

"Only," Jim went on, raising a finger, "I can't take you seriously when you look like that."

Pam giggled and stood from the couch, moving to the kitchen for a bottle of wine. "I feel like someone's Barbie doll."

"Care to elaborate?" Jim asked from the couch.

Pam re-entered the living room with the wine and two glasses. "It's a _long_ story," she said.

Jim shrugged slightly, looking up at her. "I've got time." he said.

000

Pizza became the main course of the evening. After Pam had washed her face of Kelly's concoction and changed into some comfortable clothes, the two set up chairs on the balcony of the terrace and put the wine and pizza between them on the table.

Pam felt better now that she was wiped clean of Kelly's makeover, able to be herself in jeans and a light sweater. She was almost grateful they hadn't gone out, feeling as though a stuffy restaurant and dress code would have been too much for their first real date. Instead, she savored the idea of spending an evening at home with Jim, as if sitting with him on that balcony and sipping wine were two of the most natural things in the world.

As for Jim, he couldn't have been happier with the way things turned out—the rain had stopped, Dwight was finally off his case, and even though Pam had at first looked like the second runner-up to the Miss Pennsylvania beauty contest, he was delighted to finally have her in his company. He felt the same surge of longing and delight by being at her side, that feeling of wanting to be close and take it slow at the same time. Pam was, he concluded, like the wine they were sipping—better and sweeter-tasting the longer he waited to indulge in her company. More than three years going and he was finally on a date with her. Those three years, he thought, were a small price to pay.

"So what do you think Dwight is doing right now?" Pam asked, sipping her wine

"You know, I'd really rather not think about him right now," Jim said, looking over at Pam with a smile. She exchanged his expression, and slowly put her hand on his.

**Jim to camera:**

"Best first date ever. Hands down."

000

Dwight had, in fact, made it over to Angela's just as Pam and Jim had ordered a pizza. He rang her doorbell with a bouquet of daisies in his hand and a sad, pitying frown on his face. Angela had initially opened the door with a stern gaze and tight lips, but as she saw the flowers in Dwight's hand, her face softened as much as possible for someone of her character and the tiniest of smiles played on her lips.

"Permission to engage the enemy?" Dwight asked, holding out the flowers.

Angela took the daisies from his hand. "Permission granted," she said.

The two exchanged smiles.

000

**Michael to camera:**

"You know, it doesn't even matter who Jim is going out with tonight. When someone is in love, it's there on their face for everyone to read. Did I know Jim was going out with Pam tonight? Of course I did. Did I act naïve just to get confirmation? Maybe—the point is, it's not always who you're in love with that matters, but how they make you feel. With me, I could _say_ I'm in love with Cindy Crawford, but she'll never make me feel the way I do when I'm around Jan. It's as simple as that." Michael paused. "Unless Jan looked like Cindy Crawford. In that case, I'd be on her like white on rice, twenty-four seven, six days a week—except for Sunday, because that's a day of rest." Michael smiled and nodded.

"That's real love."

**END **


	5. Author's Note

I just wanted to thank you guys again for the excellent reviews! It really gave me the confidence to keep going with this fic, and I couldn't have asked for a better audience. I know it's not perfect by any means, and not nearly as funny as the show actually is, but I'm glad it put a smile on a few faces.

Because I had so much fun writing this fic, I want to do more. But since I'm lacking in the inspiration department, that's where you guys come in. I'd love to hear your ideas for new Office fics--what you want to see, who you want it to focus on. Maybe even a sequel to this story?

If you like, send me some ideas to get the ball rolling. I want to keep whatever audience I have as happy as possible, so let me know what YOU want!

Thanks again!

-L.


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